Hands
by caesarsdaughter
Summary: Minor spoilers for the BDM Primarily MalInara, with other crew thrown in for good measure.


Disclaimer: Still not mine. **Sigh**

Author's Note: Some very minor, tangential spoilers for the Big Damned Movie.

"My brother's happy."

"What's that, Little Albatross?" Mal asked the tiny wraith, all curled up around herself in the co-pilot's seat.

"Simon. He's happy. He has a hand to hold."

Mal shouldn't have been surprised – River being able to read his thoughts, even if he'd only been dimly aware of them, his own self. His feelings about his crew were always a jumble – a muddle of memories and realizations and wishes he didn't know he had. They all tended to hit him full-on when things got quiet.

When the Tams'd first come on board, after realizing they weren't a threat (except for that whole pulling down the wrath of the Alliance onto Serenity and hers), Mal had felt a slight pang of jealousy. Nothing he'd cop to, mind you – not so bad he'd have to fight a duel or nothing. (Doc didn't much know what to do when he was hit, anyway.) But it was there – he was there. In her shuttle. Talking. Not arguing. Talking.

She was a Madonna like that (not that Mal held truck with their kind so much, now) – maybe part of her whore's training. Make men comfortable, ease 'em, take their trouble onto herself. Hear their confessions, even the ones men didn't speak. She did it for Mal without even trying. Trouble was, she heaped a whole parcel of other troubles on his shoulders by doing so. Doc, though, he seemed to unburden himself right quick – without getting all caught up in her. Mal could do many things, lots of things the Doctor couldn't (take a punch, for instance – not that the boy wasn't getting better). But, that was one thing he could never do. She tangled Mal up, twisted him about. Made his innards feel like they was on his outside – raw, exposed, tingling. Doc, with his pretty face and pretty manners, cool and educated, able to talk without hurting her or himself – Doc seemed like a decent fit with her.

Mal'd come across 'em sometimes, standing in a corridor, sitting in the common area, at the table, drinking tea. Talking. Not arguing. Talking. And there it was, again. Gnawing. Munching on his intestines. Nibbling at his stomach, at his nerves.

Doc and his sis were new to the crew, and were a mite queer, besides. It took Serenity's captain a bit longer than it ordinarily would've to suss out where and how they fit. But after a while, and all at once, Mal came to see Simon's dance with Inara almost as clear as his own. It was calmer, subtler than Mal's – his relationship with Inara was all fire: playful, angry, heated, quick, it licked at his heart even as it burned him up. Made him full of all kind of emotions he didn't have words for, couldn't put words to. Maybe the words didn't exist. And he bet for all her experience, she couldn't put words to it, neither. Inara was always dancing. Not like River danced – it was more like Inara was dancing around people to hide than for 'em to see.

With the Doctor, she was different; it was comfortable, relaxed. It made sense. (And the gnawing got stronger, more insistent.) Doc's genius sis was crazy, so there weren't much conversation to be had from her. Not that made much sense, anyway. Beyond her (and maybe Shepherd), Simon and Inara were the most learned of Serenity's crew. Which was why Mal'd been so surprised when he noticed the sadness between 'em. Like all his other epiphanies, it came at him all raging, hit him full in the face some night, long before Miranda, before Inara had left, with the full crew sitting down to dinner. Food was gone – just drink and laughter left 'round the scrubbed oak table. He loved that table, loved to see his family around it.

For some reason (probably the drink), he'd noticed all their hands special, that night – his crew at rest, mugs of hooch fermented in the engine on the tabletop. Zoë's hand covered Wash's. Mal made note whenever he saw Zoë's hand cover her husband's. Never did hold with shipboard romance – could cause all manner of complications in a small crew. (And didn't he know it.) Normally Wash's hand sought his wife's – wanted to hold her, claim her, and make sure she (and everyone else, most especially Mal) knew she was _his_. And Zoë let him. Seemed to like it, love it, being claimed by something that was just as much hers – they belonged to each other and no one else. So, when her hand covered Wash's, Mal made note. She was either protecting him from something, or apologizing. Often both. He'd reminded himself to let Zoë walk away from the table still holding Wash's hand that night, not to call her back with orders or business.

River's hands had been in her lap – girl never did keep her hands where everyone could see 'em. Sometimes he'd wondered if it was 'cause she was so scared, wanted to keep herself close for comfort. Since Miranda, he figured it was 'cause of the training. Never let 'em see what you're holding. She'd not hurt Serenity nor her crew, if she could help it. But, River couldn't change her nature. And she had been made into an assassin.

Book and Jayne had been holding onto their mugs – big hands clutching the ceramic, occasionally lifting to take a draw from the warming liquid. Jayne pulled from his a good deal more than the Shepherd, but seemed little the worse for it.

Doc and Kaylee sat next to each other as usual, him pulling her seat out for her like she was a girl he was attending, courting. Irrational gnawing aside, when Mal looked at the two of 'em, he realized she was exactly that. Simon's right hand and Kaylee's left both rested on the surface – sitting idle, but passing a world of meaning to one another, not Touching, not Not Touching - just resting, waiting. Doc was too wound up, too much stuck in his own head and his own way to move his – River'd taken up his whole life for years. Might even keep taking it up still, if he couldn't fix her. Doctor didn't feel he had the right to claim Kaylee's hands with his own. But that wasn't going to stop him from doing it, anyway. In his own manner – not really touching, just real close.

And for all her spreading, Kaylee seemed inclined to patience when it came to the Doc. Mal'd come to know her pretty good – took her on as his own little sister. And looking at her little hand, scrubbed raw to get off all the engine grease, next to Simon's – well, she was just a girl. Probably in love with the Doc, but didn't know it, yet. She'd not been in love before. Doc knew, Mal figured, but couldn't decide what to do about it – couldn't do anything. Paralyzed would be the term, he reckoned.

But it was Inara's hands, like so much else (hell, everything else) about her, that captivated him. Slender, graceful, practiced at all manner of sin and skills. It was the polish that he noticed, that night. Dark, shiny lacquer. Not having really known another Companion, Mal wasn't rightly sure if they all wore polish like that. Nandi had, but he hadn't noticed her girls – eyes for one thing, only. (Okay, two things. Well, three if you counted not getting shot or blowed up or anything else Burgess might'a had in mind for 'em.) Mal thought it might be a sign of their trade. Something setting them apart from the ladies they was supposed to resemble.

Whores weren't Ladies, no matter how much training or learning they had. They were imitations of Ladies – the manners, the education, the ease at conversing. But companions had intimate knowledge of those special hells Book'd talked about; kept 'em from being considered a real part of the class they served. Companions weren't pretty flowers to be looked on and left untouched, unspoiled, like little girls and wives. They were there for the touching – to touch. To provide pleasure and take it for themselves. To be used. No mistake, Inara was a woman, in every sense. But, she was no Lady. Mal preferred her that way, appreciated her the more for it. He had no use for women so tied up in bein' seen as proper as to be useless. Inara was hardly useless. Could keep her head in a fight, knew how to use that bow thingy, whupped his ass with a sword. She had a brain, she had wits, and she used 'em. Also, she was damned near the prettiest thing Mal had ever seen, ever dreamed about.

Companions were respectable as businesswomen- but they were still businesswomen. (A Lady'd never be in no trade, getting her hands dirty like that.) They were trained to sell themselves, and to do so well. Inara certainly sold herself well. All kind of well. Too well, to Mal's thinking. He'd not mind it a jot if she sold herself a little less well, really.

It was thinking on the selling, and looking at her pretty half-smile as she laughed at something Book'd just said to Jayne, that made Mal aware maybe she was a little sad when she talked to the Doctor. And maybe Simon was, too. They seemed to find an easy rhythm with each other right quick; there was comfort in talking with someone who knew your language (Doc usually tried to leave doctory bits out of conversations with any of the crew, if he could help it; absolutely not a one of them knew what he was saying when he went all medical on 'em). But they seemed to remind each other of things they couldn't have, or couldn't be.

Dr. Simon Tam, very smart trauma surgeon in Capital City, Osiris would've eventually married. (Excepting his collection of shiny vests and that one purple shirt, Mal was pretty sure the Doc weren't sly.) With parents like the ones Simon and River talked about, Mal was pretty damned sure Simon'd not have had the courage _not_ to marry. He'd have married a girl, a Lady, all draped up in being a Doctor's wife – covered in richness, all shiny and golden. She'd be groomed pretty, to be sure. At first glance, Inara fit that description fine. But, Dr. Tam's Lady wife wouldn't have had dark, polished hands.

Simon could talk to Inara, better than the rest of Serenity's crew (especially little Kaylee, no matter how badly he wanted to – Doc seemed to still be figurin' out exactly how to handle the girl). But for all that familiarity, it was just conversing. Inara was a well done-up fake of what the Doc'd have had, if he'd stayed where he'd been at before River got took. Inara was a gentile reminder of things Simon'd not get back. If Mal thought on it (and when he did, he sincerely blamed it on the drink), he didn't think the Doc really minded not getting that life back. But, nothing could make a man not get homesick every now and then.

For her part, Mal figured that Inara could read the Doc pretty well. Her 'no servicing crew' rule aside, he thought Inara'd not have serviced Simon, anyway. The young man, with his pretty clothes and his mannered air, might just remind Inara of what she was and what she wasn't – whether the Doc wanted to or not. (Doc might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a coward and he wasn't malicious.) No, if Inara decided to relate with any of the crew, it'd be as herself – as just a woman. Mal didn't think Inara the Woman would get much out of the good Doctor. For all his training and education, Simon was just a boy, really. Not up to tangling with a woman like her, he reckoned. And Inara had told Mal that she preferred things with more miles on 'em, anyway. And Mal stopped being jealous of Simon. He still wasn't thrilled with the ones who paid her, though.

Doc'd had to grow up too fast for all manner of reasons, so he didn't get to grow up at all, not the way normal people do. After Miranda, he'd gone about with the same sadness as everybody (everyone excepting Zoe – her sadness was so deep Mal didn't think she could see the bottom – see the end, though it had to be there). But, Kaylee'd done a right good job of cheering him up. And herself to boot. She had a way like that, little Kaylee did. All sunshine and rainbows (until you knocked Serenity – then she turned into someone Mal'd even fear crossing). And though he still didn't hold with shipboard romances, it gladdened him to see Kaylee peaceful and playful again – like she'd been before Early paid 'em all a visit.

Now, you couldn't go a day without walking down one of Serenity's corridors and bumping into the Doctor and Kaylee holding each other – and not just hands, neither. Getting ruttin' annoying. He'd just had to turn his eyes the other way and stare at the cupboards as he walked through the common area to get to the bridge.

"He's got a hand to hold, other than mine." River added as an afterthought, pulling Mal back into himself.

"He surely does at that. You might wanna stick around in here for a spell, come to think of it."

River rolled her eyes. "It's nothing I haven't seen before." Though he tried to keep his expression passive, Mal thought he might just be showing himself to have been scandalized. "They're like that everywhere! Honestly, you'd think he'd never been with a girl, before," she continued to complain. As River huffed like little sisters do, and pulled her knees into her chest, Mal relaxed. For a second, he'd thought -- but no. Doc gave up his life for his sister, cared for her. Doc loved his sister. But, no. That was just downright unsettling. No. Ick.

The girl's lucid periods had been getting longer and longer since Miranda. Mal pretty well understood everything she said, all the time, now. And when he didn't, he figured it was 'cause she was a genius, not 'cause she was crackpot crazy.

"Has he? Had a girl? Before Kaylee?" He laughed, curiosity getting the better of him.

River giggled as she stood up to leave the bridge, "Wash would have won that bet. But just barely."

It didn't shock him that she knew about it (she seemed to know about everything, which could present itself as troublesome at a future date), though Mal couldn't rightly remember when the bet had been made. Sometime after Ariel, he thought, when Jayne had been forgiven some. The three of 'em had been on the bridge, Mal giving instructions for a pick-up to Wash while at the same time fielding Jayne's grumblings about having to stay on Serenity "like some kinda ruttin' babysitter."

"So, you an Zoë get to go have all kinds of fun planetside, while I gotta stay on the boat and make sure Kaylee don't spread for the gorram doctor." Jayne had been complaining something fierce, but he knew Mal'd not change his mind. It was part of his punishment – he needed to prove to the Captain that he was trustworthy again. The Doctor and his sister we part of the crew, whether he liked it or not.

"That ain't part of the job I gave ya, Jayne. But if you think it'll help with getting paid, then by all means." Mal had an inkling of how Jayne felt about Kaylee (she brought the protective out in most men). Jayne'd never take her as a man does, mostly 'cause she'd brain him with a wrench. But, partially because he cared about her too much.

"Well, what good's a mechanic who's supposed to be helpin' with the getting away, if she's flat on her back under some dandy?"

"Doc ain't no dandy, Jayne. And I don't think it'd be a real problem, besides."

Jayne opened his mouth, about to protest.

"I can say with all honesty that the only trouble I've had with getaways due to crew on their backs is when someone gets shot." Wash had taken this opportune moment to jump in with his own brand of logic – taking what was due to turn into a blown up argument back down to a regular conversation. "And Simon's always standing when people are shot. You know, Doctoring. Very often you, Jayne."

Jayne opened his mouth to protest, again, but apparently thought better of what he was going to say. Muttering under his breath, "Bet he'd not know what to do with a woman if'n he had one nekked and on his lap, anyhow."

"I'll take that bet." Jayne talking under his breath still wasn't what normal folk'd call real quiet. Understanding what it was like to use words and smarts and skills when everyone around you was using guns and fists was something Wash'd gotten used to. Before Simon and River'd shown up, Wash'd been the odd man out of the crew. And he'd decided to bet on Simon not being as clueless about other folk as he seemed – probably because Wash himself had managed such a fine wife. And no one could rightly figure how.

Zoë's hands only ever held each other, now. It hurt Mal to see her like that – alone. He'd not been for it when they'd gotten hitched. But now, Zoë just seemed like half a person.

"She'll be alright." River laid a small hand on Mal's shoulder and squeezed. "You'll see."

"I hope so, Darlin'."

"No one on Serenity is alone. Not really." She squeezed his shoulder once more, then glided out of the bridge in that way of hers – quickly, silently, like she was on wheels, barely touching the floor. Mal used to find it eerie. Now, it was just River – soft, graceful, deadly.

Mal heard a strangled cry come from the common area.

"River! Don't sneak up on people like that!" Mal smirked as he heard the Doctor's shaky voice scold his sister for … interrupting. By the sound of her laughter, River seemed to be retreating to the cargo bay to annoy Jayne by haunting his footsteps. It'd become a favorite pastime for the girl.

Turning back to the console, Mal chuckled, "Ain't that the truth," and started flipping the switches necessary to take 'em out of the world.

"Isn't what the truth?"

Mal turned to see the graceful form of Inara, standing about a foot behind him. She was talking to him, but was looking intently out the windows.

"River just told me that nobody on Serenity's alone."

"Ah," she nodded. And continued to stand slightly behind him, as he began the sequence to take off. As they were breaking atmo, Mal stole a glance at her by pretending to check the wiring under the pilot's console. All lit up by the fire surrounding the ship, Mal thought she looked a little sad, again. Her mouth was set in a strange sort of line.

"So, um." When she finally spoke again, he turned and looked at her straight. Not sad, she looked … apprehensive.

"Yes?"

"So, um… I was wondering about my return to Sihnon."

"Ah," he had known this was coming. Just 'cause she wasn't rightly sure when she wanted to leave, just after Miranda, didn't mean she wouldn't ever leave. No matter how much he wanted her to stay, needed her to stay, really.

"I was wondering about the schedule. Um." It wasn't like her to be so poorly spoken, halting in her speech.

"Well, I figure we can get you back to House Madrassa and civilization within a week. If'n that's where you plan to go."

"Oh, well, I was thinking - "

"That's where you wanna go back? It's where you got your stuff."

"Yes, my stuff."

"Unless there's someplace else you'd like us to drop ya? We can always - "

"Well, I don't want you to have to change - "

" - change course."

" - change course just for me."

"It's no trouble, really. If you're willin' to wait a few extra days."

"Well, I was thinking - "

"Down a member of the crew, we're a might short-handed on jobs - "

"I thought River was doing an excellent job of piloting - "

" - girl's comin' along plenty, don't get me wrong. Just inexperienced."

"But, that leads me to why I wanted to talk to you."

They'd been talking over one another, as was their particular style of conversing. It was easier to just keep talking, not listening to what the other truly had to say, not having to say what you really thought or felt. It was a rhythm they'd developed long ago. Somehow, they still managed to understand one another.

"What about?"

"Well," she looked down at her delicate feet in satin slippers, "I thought … that perhaps … " her hair, long and loose, hung over her face, obscuring his view of her expression. She took a step closer towards him, keeping her gaze at the floor. "I thought, perhaps, since Serenity has lost some crew … you might be able to use an extra pair of hands. For a while."

"Well, I don't rightly know where we'd find someone to take on - "

"Mal." She was looking straight at him, now, her eyes leveled with his. He could see that she wasn't wearing near as much makeup as she once did, less of a sparkly mask on her face. And he noticed her clothes, still all flowy and graceful, but plainer. No jewelry, nothing dangling to get caught anywhere.

"Yeah, I reckon we could use some extra hands. For a while," and he couldn't help but smile a little. She was gonna stay. He reached out and grabbed her hand, his thumb absently stroking her soft, smooth skin. It was like satin. And then he noticed something else was missing from her getup. The dark polish was gone.

As they both turned to face the windows, staring out into the black, he said softly "For as long a while as you'd like."


End file.
